Out and About: St. Anne's, Shandon, Cork

In the spirit of posting things a bit late, I’m going to try and share some pictures from a couple weeks ago.

On the morning of Saturday, September 20, I got a call saying that my godson had been born. Being filled with anxious energy to burn after the great news, but not being able to call and share the news with anyone back home (darn you, eight-hour time difference!) I decided to head out and explore Cork city a bit more on my own.

I made my way up to the north part of the city, called Shandon. I paid my five euros and climbed the bell tower of St. Anne’s. Now, if you know me you know that I tend to wind up on bell towers a lot when I travel. It just sort of happens. I’m not a proficient climber nor a hunchback and I’m not overly fond of heights (I’m not afraid, mind you, in fact I want to sky-dive some day but I’m just saying that if I could choose to stay as a human or be turned into a bird, I’d probably pick human. You know how it is) but if there’s a bell tower anywhere around and if access is granted, I’ll probably end up on the top of it.

The St. Anne’s tower is fun because at the first landing you stop at as you climb you can ring the bells. Yes, you too can be an amateur campanologist (from the Italian “campanile” for “bell tower”…er, or so I assume) for a mere pittance. There are even little laminated cards right next to the ropes so that you can sound semi-sorta knowledgeable (or maybe just to prevent the residents of Shandon from going batty listening to random bells all day long).






After ringing the bells, you’re prompted to put some ear protectors on (shooting range style!) to…you know…protect your…ears… You then continue up the tower on the spiral stairs. They look like this:



Inviting, no?

You pass a bit of machinery on the way up. There weren’t any interpretive signs (something that fills the museum studies part of my heart with desolate sorrow) but I’m assuming these monstrous green contraptions are responsible for running the clocks (there are four separate clock faces, one on each side of the tower. St. Anne’s tower is also called the “four-faced liar” because the clocks never give the same time except for at the top of each hour).



Finally, you see the bells themselves. Still hanging from the thick timber cross-beams you are struck by the rustic charm. And then you realize that the only way to the top of the tower is to climb over the beams. They’re less charming then. You’re also grateful for the ear covering. See the beams in the picture there supporting the bells that are each about half the size of a person? Yeah, I climbed over, around, on top of, and through those. I’m extreme like that.



After the harrowing beam-crawling episode, you are rewarded by gusts of cold fresh Cork breeze and amazing views of the entire city. Cork is the Anglicization (or, as the Irish would write, “Anglicisation”) of the Irish word corcaigh, meaning “marsh.” The city center of Cork is built on a series of low-lying marshy island-y things and the whole city is surrounded by low hills. You don’t really notice that when you’re in the city center, but the view from Shandon tower makes it obvious.

In this picture (looking south and east), you see that tall building kinda in the left third? (if you don’t, you’re blind. It’s the tallest thing for kilometers!) I live not too far from there. I’d say it took me around 30 minutes walking to get to St. Anne’s.



And, again in the grand tradition of me being on top of bell towers…here’s a picture of me. Like many other photos in my library, this one is distinguished by the awesome self-portrait style of execution! Hoorah! (The view is south by southwest and the green-roofed building behind me is the Franciscan church).



And to finish, a bit more trivia about Shandon and St. Anne’s. The top of the St. Anne’s tower (which I, unfortunately, could not get a photo of) has a weathervane…it’s a gold-colored salmon. Seriously. According to the church literature, the salmon not only symbolizes the idea of the apostles being “fishers of men” but also the “rich maritime heritage of Cork city.” So yeah. In the charming Cork dialect/accent, you’ll hear people talking about living under “da goldie fish” when they’re from Shandon. Shandon is also famous for a poem written by Father Prout. I’ll conclude by copying the most famous verse from this poem below:

With deep affection and recollection
I oft times think of those Shandon bells,
Whose sound so wild would in the days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle their magic spells,
On this I ponder when'eer I wander and thus grow
fonder sweet Cork of thee,
With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand on,
The pleasant waters of the river Lee.